Blind School (5 page)

She picked up pace, now almost at a run. The van stayed with her, keeping the same distance behind. Its dark windows stared back ominously at her.

Inside, its driver tapped a steady beat on the steering wheel with one finger.

She forgot all pretence and started running, cutting frantically into the next side-turn – but then he did a strange thing. He went straight on.

She caught a vague silhouette of his head through the glass. He appeared to be looking ahead, hardly gave her a passing glance.

Sudden relief, she eased her pace, caught back some of her gasping breath. Still rattled though, she picked up a steady jog again after a moment.

She looked back at intervals. Still no black van in sight.

Still that steady finger tap on the steering wheel, the van driver swung into another turn...

She took another turn too before finally easing her pace. A steady fast walk now as she glanced back. She felt safe at last.

What she hadn’t noticed was that the van had rounded the block and was now parked ahead, tucked in close behind a 4-wheeler.

And when she did finally spot it, it was already too late: the van's side door swung open and she caught only a shadow of movement before a cloth was clamped hard over her mouth.

Darkness.

Dusk light. The Andrews USAF base hangar was now being used as both a morgue and assessment area. An ATF team were busy sorting through anything from fuselage parts to charred shoes and handbags.

Their leader, Brent Cohburn, looked up as Ellis Kendell approached. Cohburn grimaced as Ellis flashed his badge.

‘Thought I already dealt with the FBI's interest in this case earlier today.’

‘Different department. And like they say – three heads is better than one.’

‘More like five or six now, what with the military brass.’ Cohburn hooked a brow. ‘So what's your department's interest in the case?’

Ellis smiled thinly. ‘Don't worry. When they let me know that I can tell you – you'll be the first to know. So what we got?’

‘Nineteen dead. Eight critical. Another dozen walking wounded. And three of the corpses are yet to be identified.’

Ellis followed Cohburn's gaze towards the body bags on some far trestle tables – shadows heavier there beyond the arc lamps lighting the wreckage sorting tables.

‘Flight recorder's now with our
Langley
depot,’ Cohburn remarked. ‘And, as you can see, a ton of wreckage and personal items to sort through and bag.’

‘You got a guest list for the event? And any video cams showing their movements while they were here?’

‘Yeah, tons. Entrance and car-park, the marquee... and the stand itself.’ Cohburn held out a palm. ‘How long you got?’

‘As long as it takes.’

The blonde girl slowly stirred in a dark, enclosed space. It took her a second to recall the last moments of being chased and the cloth being put over her mouth.

As she awoke fully and reached out to touch solid wood inches above and to each side, she let out a gasp.  And as the smell of damp earth reached her through the wood and it fully dawned on her where she was, she started hyperventilating.

The only faint light in the coffin was from a cell-phone. And now a voice coming over it:

‘You awake yet?’

She calmed her fractured breathing after a second, answered tremulously.

‘Yes. Who are you? And
where
... where am I?’

Silence from the other end, and her frantic, staccato breathing lapsed into tears.

‘What do you want? Get me out of here... Out of here!’ She quickly lost it, started banging and scratching at the wood, screaming repeatedly: ‘Out... Out...
Out of here
!’

Above ground, a sly smile creased Frank Lyle's lips as he listened through a hands-free earpiece. But still he remained silent.

Her breath caught again as the opportunity suddenly dawned on her.  She grabbed the cell-phone and punched 911.

But the buttons were rigid, didn't move.

Lyle, hearing the scuffling, worked out what had happened.

‘Neat trick, huh? All the buttons have been super-glued. So you can't dial out or switch off. My voice will stay with you until the battery runs out or you run out of air down there.’

His comment set off another frantic burst of screaming and kicking from the girl through his earpiece, brought the warped smile back to Lyle's face.

‘You wanna get out of there, you got to convince me just how much you want that. How much you like me? How much you
love
me?’

‘I... I don't even know you,’ she stammered after a second.

‘Not the right answer. So let's try again: do you love me?’

   A heavy pause, then flatly: ‘Yes, I love you. Now let me out of here.’

‘Not much passion though, huh? Hardly enough for me to really believe that you love me.’

‘I... I don't know.’ Frantic, almost catatonic, her eyes shifted wildly for options before finally hitting something hopeful. ‘Maybe... maybe if I saw you, got to know you better, that would help. That would do it.’

‘But you saw me before, didn't you?’

   ‘No... No, I didn't.’

   But as she made the denial, she got the flashback: looking at Lyle crossing a mall car park towards his van. A ghostly, demon-like apparition swirled within him; and as a wild cacophony of voices drowned her senses, its head started to swivel her way.

‘It was knowing that you'd seen me that made me follow you.’ Lyle in turn flashed-back to when he realized he’d been spotted: starting up his van and following the girl. ‘So now you've gotta convince me. Convince me that –’

Another voice suddenly crashed into his thoughts: ‘Frank? You okay? You talking to somebody there?’

Lyle peered towards the farmer by his flat-bed truck on the dust track thirty yards away. Joe Wyvern, his neighbouring farmer.

Lyle straightened up, hooked a thumb towards the baby cherry tree where he was crouched.

‘Just giving this one freshly planted a touch of coaxing.’

Wyvern’s brow knitted quizzically. ‘Think it helps? Talkin' to 'em like that?’

‘Reckon it does.’ Lyle could hardly hear his own voice beyond the frantic screaming and banging now through his earpiece. The girl desperate that whoever’s close by might hear her. ‘Certainly can't harm.’

‘Suppose not.’ Wyvern smiled tightly after a second.

Lyle watched Wyvern get back in his truck and drive off, then knelt back by the cherry tree.

SIX

Ryan and Tommy were sat on a low wall in the schoolyard in the lunch break.

‘So you're seeing your dad this weekend?’ Tommy enquired.

Ryan nodded, gaze lost ahead for a moment, as if unsure how he felt about that.

‘Yeah. Had him on the phone for almost an hour. Wasn't due to see me till the end of the month – but he decided to pull it forward after what happened at the Mocha Boca. Make sure I'm still in one piece.’

‘Is that how often you see him now? Once a month?’

‘Yeah. That's all my mother says he can manage now his work's taken him to
Atlanta
.’

   Tommy looked at him more directly. ‘What's your dad say?’

‘He says he'd see me every week if mom would let him.’

‘Which one do you believe?

‘I don't know...’ Ryan looked away uncomfortably for a moment. His emotional diet the past eighteen months: the tug of war between his parents as to ‘who cared most about him’. He’d hoped that their divorce would mean they’d finally stop scoring points off each other; but perhaps that was a hope too far.  ‘Whichever one puts me less in the middle of this shit, I suppose.’

But Tommy, gazing across the schoolyard, was only half paying attention. ‘Oh, oh... barf-brain alert.’

Tommy's eyes had fixed on school muscle Brad Milford and his 'crew' a hundred yards ahead. Having just finished hassling someone else, they’d started heading their way.

‘Never have one of Mr Tully’s history classes seemed so welcoming.’

Tommy got up and headed back towards the school building. Ryan followed, falling in step alongside Tommy after a second.

‘You got a problem with
Milford
?’

   ‘No... it's okay.’ Tommy shrugged. ‘Well, nothing I can't handle.’

Ryan glanced back at
Milford
who, seeing them head away, sought out a fresh target. No doubt Tommy would tell him the problem with
Milford
when he was ready.

Ellis Kendell was by Aaron Green’s desk. The screen-grab of the man outside
Santos
's school now had a mug-shot alongside. Aaron pointed with his pen towards the screen as he looked up at Ellis.

‘Brian Lee Marston. Age, thirty-eight. Born in
Akron
,
Ohio
.’

‘And what rap's put him on the system?

‘Assault on his ex-partner four years back. She subsequently claimed harassment and stalking as well – and a year later got a restraining order keeping him from her home.’

‘Anything on him involving either children or juveniles?’

‘No, nothing. That's the only thing on record.’

Ellis nodded after a second, turned away. Sometimes he liked being wrong. 

‘Oh Jeeeeeeez!’

Jessica Werner braced against the kitchen counter, suddenly breathless halfway through mixing the drink for her mom. She fumbled in her pocket for the inhaler.

At the bottom of the stairs in the hallway, her seven-year old brother Ben was playing with a
Bukugan
Dragonoid
.

He kept playing with his toy as he heard Jessica’s breathlessness and her sucking on her inhaler, as if it was now a regular event he was accustomed to. But he paused when he heard the clinking of the spoon as she stirred the glass in the kitchen; this was a newer event, one he hadn’t yet got used to.

As Jessica took the drink to her mother, Ben moved down the hallway and peered in at them.

‘There you go, mom.’

As her mother started drinking, Jessica only then became aware of Ben’s presence. He looked unsettled by what he saw, and Jessica felt strangely guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Ben as quickly disappeared from view, and she heard his feet padding rapidly back up the stairs. Jessica held one hand out to her mom.

‘Won’t be a minute.’

Ben was sitting on the edge of his bed as she walked in. He was swinging his legs back and forth and looked thoughtfully at them, as if they held more fascination than anything else at that moment. Or perhaps because he didn’t wish to see what lay beyond them, Jessica contemplated.